


Clumsy Heart

by turnyourankle



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-23
Updated: 2009-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer Bert and Gerard got together, Gerard was busy falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clumsy Heart

The concept of time is above Bert. Timelines, and how today conversations relate to two days ago's. It doesn't register really. Branden would say that's it's because of all the drugs, and the booze, and he's probably right (he is about a lot of things) but as far as Bert is concerned? Doesn't really matter.

It is what it is. He doesn't have time to figure out what shit went down first when it all ends up the same fucking stew. Or when he met someone the first time; doesn't change where any shit's at.

Linearity is overrated anyway.

  


-

  
"Gerard has got to be the most pussy ass name I've ever heard, dude."

Gerard shrugs; like it's nothing he hasn't heard before.

"Seriously, dude. There's no way you're not hardcore awesome with a name like that. Not avoidable." Bert grins wickedly.

Gerard pauses, as if considering his next words carefully.

Bert isn't patient, fingers prodding at Gerard's chest. "Whatwhatwhat."

"Jesus fucking christ, cut it out, I was just thinking--"

"Yes?"

"Kinda like Bert? As in that's so lame...too."

"Exactly like Bert." Bert grins, and Gerard's face just fucking lights up. "S'how you know I'm fan-fucking-tastic. Guaranteed."

  


-

  
Gerard makes an angel on the cement, arms stretched out wide, caked with dirt. He has a goofy grin on, staring up. Doesn't look like he's looking at anything in particular from where Bert's standing, but he doesn't really have the same point of view.

"That looks like fun," Bert says.

Frank glares at him, arms crossed. There are dusty hand prints on his shorts. "He won't get up."

Bert crouches next to Gerard, and pokes his cheek. "Hellooo."

Gerard says, "Hi." His mouth stretches out a little more, eyes narrowed from squinting up.

"Seems fine. Comfy. Maybe he wants to be there." Bert looks up too, trying to see what Gerard's seeing. Looks like a whole lotta white and blue.

Otter cackles, hand wiping his mouth, he quiets when Frank turns his glare in his direction.

Bert ignores them, joining Gerard on the cement and imitating his pose. From where he is, Bert can see a halo of icky hot light around Frank and Otter's heads. He has to squint too, streaks of sun bleeding across his vision.

Otter spits on the ground, and shakes his head, laughing. "Told you, you're overreacting." He punches Frank in the shoulder.

"You'll keep an eye on 'im?"

"I've got his back," Bert says, wiggling his feet, and bumping Gerard with his elbow. "Ain't that right?" Gerard nods slowly.

Otter winks at them as he ushers Frank away, hand broad on his back.

"I don't think I can get up," Gerard slurs, and he croaks out laugh. It sounds choked.

"Up is overrated." Bert tilts his head, and lets the ground undulate with heat below him.

  


-

  
Gerard has a cigarette between his fingers, thumb scratching along the ridge of his brow. It's one of the few times Bert's seen him calm; he's usually jittery, a stream of words flowing endlessly and mouth all crooked. It still is, now, kinda open and kinda not. Like an invitation. Bert likes to think it's all for him.

It seems like a good idea, then, to find out what Gerard tastes like. How much tongue he uses, and how his teeth would feel against his.

That's all it takes for Bert to push himself closer, lips and bite pressing against Gerard's. His mouth opens easily, and he pushes back.

Turns out it is a good idea.

Gerard still has his cigarette in his hand, palm pressing against Bert's scalp, like he wants him closer, and Bert can only add more bite, more push and shove until he can hardly breathe, nose pressed into Gerard's face. He has to let go then, and he doesn't pretend to hide his grin; Gerard's matches his, and he blinks. Rolling his lips into his mouth briefly, before taking another drag.

Like he has to keep his mouth occupied. Which is really fucking hot.

"I wanna blow you."

Gerard makes a strangled little noise, but his hips buck forward, the softness of his belly bumping against Bert's hand. Actions speak louder than words.

"Pretty please?" Bert drags out the words, hand barely pressing against Gerard's stomach, inside his jacket.

Gerard doesn't say anything, or nod, but he drops his cigarette and trembles when Bert's fingers find his zipper. That's enough approval for him.

  


-

  
Gerard is watching the stages being torn when Bert finds him. Alone, propped up against a crew bus; one hand tightly wrapped around a bottleneck.

Bert nods, and grabs the beer from Gerard's grip, there isn't much left; it's flat and warm and disgusting, and he doesn't get why Gerard has been holding on to it for so long, but he swallows it down anyway. It's good enough to wash down all the dust from the stage and burnt burgers. "Haven't had anything to drink all day."

"Save yourself from dehydration; drink other people's beers, huh?" Gerard asks, biting around his cigarette.

"You know I'm pretty sure Quinn's hidden a few brewskis in his backpack. They're not cold but they are fresh."

Gerard's mouth twitches, just like when he comes, and Bert could get hard just watching that. "Serves him right for banning me from their poker games, sore loser my fucking ass."

"I could get used to this," Gerard says, the glow of his cigarette bright. Bert bares his teeth, an almost smile, and Gerard laughs.

"C'mon, c'mon," he says, leading the way, and Gerard follows, one hand briefly trailing along Bert's shoulder.

  


-

  
"Tell me again," Bert coaxes, legs holding onto Gerard's in the bunk, ankles crossed and hooked around his calves. Bert's warm, really warm, from the air, the sheets, Gerard's body pressed against him. The sheets stick to his back, but he doesn't mind. It's the good kind of warm, not suffocating, more like a cradling wave.

Gerard's breath is whiny as he comes to, again. He blinks rapidly, as if he can't really figure out where he is, but his fingers rub along the hem of Bert's briefs, and he starts talking, voice hoarse and soft.

In the background Ray and Otter are having a snoring contest, and the bass from Mikey's headphones still echoes faintly.

Bert likes to milk memories from Gerard. The weird roommate that had sex in the same room; certifiable college teachers with kooky assignments, eating pizza in front of the tv, getting drunk at basement parties with grown ups in the next room.

It's just so normal, in a way, and Bert can't really imagine Gerard wandering down the halls of a college, holding twenty minute long presentations and writing essays. It's hard to process; that this Gerard did all that, has all these diplomas and still has fucking visions.

He falls asleep to it, Gerard's sleepy voice dragging out words, and holds on tight, back against the wall.

  


-

  
Gerard finds a pancake house in Denver. Tiled walls and pastels clash with their grayed clothes; all their shirts, even the clean ones, covered with a coat of dust and sweat.

"I can't believe there's nothing vegan on the menu." Quinn frowns, pointedly staring at the plates sliding across the linoleum tabletop. Bert keeps his spinning with his palms.

"Yup, blows," Frank says, knife straight as it carves into his pile of pancakes.

"I thought you were vegetarian, not vegan?" Mikey asks. He's wedged between Gerard ans the wall, shoulders rectangular and fixed.

"Havok got to him," Bert says, making a face before stuffing his mouth with pancakes, moaning around it, the fork dangling from his mouth.

"Shut up."

Bert passes him a beer from his backpack under the table, and Quinn swallows down as much as he can in one sweep. He almost smashes the can down on the table, and burps loudly.

"Serves 'em right," Gerard mumbles, mouth full, and nods at Bert. He passes Gerard a beer of his own under the table. He's subtler, taking a few gulps and propping the can on the seat.

"Hey, we ordered shit, we're paying customers. They can't do anything." Quinn takes another long swallow, throat undulating. "Keep 'em coming."

Bert knocks at Mikey's knees with a can, he shakes his head, and Bert goes on to Frank.

"Think I'll pass," Frank says, after shooting Mikey a look. Bert keeps the beer for himself.

"Ten bucks says you can't finish the syrup bottle in ten minutes."

Quinn burps again, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes dart from Bert's to the bottle, gauging how much there's left, no doubt. "You're so on, dude." He turns the bottle upside down, palm striking the bottom before aiming the opening at his mouth.

  


-

  
Gerard's lips are tight around Bert's cock, and Bert watches it disappear into Gerard's mouth, hissing.

The sight is almost as amazing as the feeling. He sees it in slow motion, but he definitely feels it in real time; a warm tongue and the roof of a mouth, warm and wet and--and it's all Gerard, which is still kinda fucking hard to process, especially when his head's clouded already.

He watches Gerard's flushed cheeks, hollowed out, and he has to work to keep his eyes open, hand a fist in Gerard's hair.

Gerard has a wide pleased grin when he's done, teeth and eyes shining in the dark. Bert can barely stop himself from pulling Gerard up and just sucking all the air out of him.

He doesn't have the energy for that, though, arms and legs limp and his stomach is still a mess; like his internal organs were rearranged. He gets that feeling a lot around Gerard.

Instead, he drops down to the ground, knees folding under his weight and gives Gerard a sloppy kiss. Gerard tastes like him, and his hand is tight along the line of Bert's neck, as if he can't let go.

  


-

  
There's a deep scrape on Gerard's knee. Evidence of a bad landing from the roof of the bus. It was his idea, some shit about getting closer to the sun. He'd even laid out a few of Frank's towels so they wouldn't burn their backs.

Bert's gotten used to jumping off of things, knows to bend his knees and roll to lessen the impact. He's covered in dirt, scratches on the back of his arms from the gravel, but nothing deep enough to draw blood.

The blood spills in a neat line, soaking into Gerard's sock, a bloom of red fanning out. Gerard wipes it off with his hand, palms and fingers a mess. "Sorry," he says, and Bert shrugs.

"I'm not doing your laundry, pretty boy. No excusing me."

Gerard blushes--it still drives Bert crazy, that odd shyness such a turn on--ducking his head and wiping his face. The blood smears, like a feather over his chin and lips.

"Hey, hey, hey," Bert says, heel of his palm tilting Gerard's head back up. "Didn't know you were into blood play."

Gerard shakes his head; he doesn't get it. Bert wipes Gerard's mouth, the red fading slightly, replaced by a coat of dust on his cheek. Gerard sneezes.

"We should get you a band aid." Bert says, pressing a wet kiss on the corner of Gerard's mouth, wiping away more dirt. He laughs, the sound bellowing and bitten nails digging into the flesh of Gerard's arm.

  


-

  
"We should get a house," Gerard says.

"Fuck yeah, like the rockstars we are. With a backyard for shrooms and a huge basement for pot."

Gerard huffs a laugh. "Want to build a brewery too?"

"You know you want it." Bert pulls at Gerard's shirt, one of the holes stretching out. "Oh man, Quinn will be so jealous."

"And Mikey." Gerard takes a drag from his cigarette, lets the smoke puff out. "Maybe they can stay there too?"

"Fuck yeah, that's even better. Like a big fucking collective."

"We'd need more people to be a real collective."

"Well. Frank and Ray and Otter can come along. As long as Jepha and Branden get their own rooms too."

"Of course."

"Branden probably wouldn't be too pleased if he couldn't bring Spike along. Maybe they can get a poolhouse or separate garage. Wouldn't bother with the pot and the beer then."

"Smart."

"That's me."

"Where should it be though?"

"Gotta be Jersey."

"No fucking way dude, we'd get totally offed. I kinda like the relatively clean air and like, trees."

"There's trees in Jersey, dude." Bert just shakes his head, shaking his hand too. Gerard laughs. "Guess it'd never work out, huh?"

"Guess not."

  


-

  
Bert wakes up from the sudden weight pressing against and on him. It's familiar, Gerard's elbow digging into his stomach awkwardly, and his breath warm just below Bert's jaw.

"Mmm, I guess telepathic booty calling works." Bert grins and gropes Gerard's hip; no pants, only the thin boxers he's been surviving on for the past few days.

Gerard's lips are dry when he licks them, and his hair smells like puke. His face is clean though, cheeks a little swollen, and eyes puffy. Bert takes note, and files it away for later. Gerard buries his face into the crook of his neck. He shifts easily, making place for them both, and Gerard sighs.

"You know, sometimes it's like, I think you might be made up. Like I made you up." Gerard's hand is sloppy on Bert's face, fingers almost poking his eye out.

Bert bites one of his fingers, just hard enough to wake him up.

  


-

  



End file.
